


Word on the Street

by boasamishipper



Category: Top Gun (1986)
Genre: 2010s, DADT Repeal, Fluff and Humor, Future Fic, Gossip, Grocery Shopping, M/M, Married Couple, Miscommunication, Motorcycles, Neighbors, PTA Meetings, Post-Canon, Single Parents
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-10
Updated: 2019-11-10
Packaged: 2021-01-27 02:21:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,893
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21384493
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/boasamishipper/pseuds/boasamishipper
Summary: Sharon looks down at her wedding ring and says a prayer for the handsome Navy pilot that’s heading their way. He’s got no idea what he’s in for. / Or, Iceman and Maverick versus the Real Housewives of Fallon, Nevada.
Relationships: Tom "Iceman" Kazansky/Pete "Maverick" Mitchell
Comments: 18
Kudos: 107





	Word on the Street

The Churchill County PTA meets Thursday nights from eight to nine, sometimes longer if Marcy Brenner shows up and goes on a rant about the stupidity of Common Core and how the foreign language programs in Austin were much better than the ones here. The meetings are held in the cafeteria, and there’s usually snacks and decent coffee, but the real fun starts at a quarter past nine, when the group of parents get together at the local bar and share weekly gossip.

By the time Sharon arrives, Karen Davis, the three-term president and mother of twin boys Andy and Alex, is at her spot at the head of the table. Sitting next to her is Lucy Wilson and her damn cloud of hairspray — honestly, she must risk her life every time she lights a cigarette. At a glance, Sharon sees Leslie Cole, Karen Brewer, Marcy Brenner, and at least six others squished around the table. This must be big if Leslie showed up; she hardly ever comes to the post-meeting parties at all, and she’s a sucker for gossip.

“Hey,” Sharon says to Annie Walters, who budges over and makes room for her. Out of everybody at the table, Annie’s the one she’s closest to — mostly because her dry, muttered asides during the treasurer’s reports make the meetings worth it. “What’s going on?”

“Karen’s got news,” Annie says, and she sounds excited. “Apparently someone bought the house on Clark Street.”

Sharon raises her eyebrows. That house had been on the market for almost six months, ever since the wife of the original owner ran off with her dance instructor and the husband moved away to Reno with the kids. Karen’s talking again, and Sharon makes an effort to tune in. “Well, I was talking to Lizzie Walker at the salon today, and she says that she finalized all the paperwork, and we’ll be having new neighbors within the month.”

“Is it a family?” Lucy asks. “How many kids?”

“No kids,” Karen says. There’s something playing on her lips that’s half smirk, half smile, and all of the ladies lean forward in anticipation. “Apparently it’s a family of one. A Navy pilot from NAWDC — he works at TOPGUN, I think — and a handsome one at that.”

All of the single moms around the table straighten like they’ve been given an electric shock — that is to say, everybody but Sharon and Annie. While everybody excitedly shares theories about what he might look like, Sharon looks down at her wedding ring and says a prayer for the handsome Navy pilot that’s heading their way. He’s got no idea what he’s in for.

* * *

“Within the month” comes along a lot faster than Sharon had thought — or maybe it’s just because the kids are busy with school and she and Jack are both busy with work. Either way, she and Annie are on their Saturday morning walk around the neighborhood when Annie gets the idea to walk through Clark Street, and the driveway of the old Olson house is crowded with cars and, for some reason, a motorcycle. The front door and the garage are open, and there are people carrying boxes in and out of the house, and the two of them stop and stare at the chaos.

“Which one do you think is the handsome Navy pilot Karen was talking about?” Sharon asks. Right now, she can see a couple of ladies in their early forties laughing with a blonde lady and a man in his twenties that must be the blonde’s son, and Lizzie Walker’s just gone inside with an older couple and a tall blonde lady who’s built like Wonder Woman. If the handsome Navy pilot is around, she can’t see him.

“I don’t see him,” Annie says. “Why, are you interested?”

“No,” Sharon says with a laugh. “Things are great with Jack and me, thanks. What about you?”

“David and I are fine too.” Annie grins, and then something seems to catch her eye, because she turns away from the old Olson house and laughs. “Check out Karen’s place.”

Sharon turns, and bites the inside of her cheek to keep from laughing out loud. Karen’s looking through the living room window at the driveway of her new neighbor’s house, surveying the commotion with a cup of coffee in her hand like a queen looking over her kingdom. “I think she’s definitely interested.”

“I thought she was still with that science teacher.”

“No, she’s single again,” Sharon says. And the science teacher had transferred districts after they’d broken up. “And from the looks of it, very ready to mingle.”

“He’d better watch out,” Annie says. “I saw Karen in the supermarket last week flirting with the the manager bagging her groceries.” She raises the pitch of her voice to imitate Karen, and it’s not a bad impression. “‘I’m as flexible as the spaghetti I’m buying. After I cook it, I mean. Maybe you can come over for a taste.’”

“Oh my God.” Sharon is dangerously close to choking on her laughter. If that’s Karen Davis’s pick-up line, she can only imagine what Leslie and Lucy and Karen Brewer’s will be. “That poor pilot. He’s going to need all the luck he can get.”

* * *

“Ladies,” says Karen Davis at that week’s meeting. They’re at Marcy’s house this week since the bar’s closed for renovations, drinking sangria and eating homemade hor d’oeuvres. “I saw _ Him.” _

She says ‘Him’ like it’s a proper noun, and every single woman around the table leans forward in anticipation, even Sharon. (Partially because of her own curiosity, and partially because Annie hadn’t been able to make it to the meeting since her daughter was sick and had asked Sharon to fill her in on the gossip.) Lucy’s eyes are so wide Sharon can see there’s nothing back there where her brain should be. “Where? Where did you see him?”

“I saw him going to get the mail on Monday morning,” Karen says dreamily, like Handsome Navy Pilot had swept Karen off her feet and made love to her on a rug in front of a rustic fireplace. “And I think we had a connection.”

Lucy looks crestfallen. “Really?”

“Yes. Well, I only waved, but he waved back. And he _ smiled.” _

_ Poor guy just signed his own death certificate, _ Sharon thinks. _ It’ll be open season on him now. _ “What does he look like?”

“He’s tall,” Karen says. “Taller than me.” Karen’s five foot ten, so this is no small accomplishment. “Late forties or early fifties, I think. Short blond hair, broad shoulders, these absolutely _ fascinating _ eyes; I swear I was thinking about them all week and I still couldn’t tell you the color. And he’s movie star handsome.”

Lucy and Leslie eagerly chime in with their own questions, but Sharon notices that Marcy’s staring down at her wine with a puzzled expression. “He’s blond?”

“Yes,” Karen says. She tilts her head to the side, closes her eyes, and sighs. “Oh, what I wouldn’t give to run my fingers through that hair.”

Considering Karen’s first husband had been bald, Sharon can’t exactly blame her for the fantasy, but it makes Sharon childishly happy that her own husband — who’s also interested in the Handsome Navy Pilot gossip — has a very nice full head of hair. Marcy still looks confused. “I thought he had dark hair.”

Karen frowns. Now Marcy’s got everyone’s attention. “Why?”

“Well, I was driving to the store on Wednesday and I saw someone on a motorcycle pull up to the old Olson house,” Marcy says, and sure enough, Sharon remembers that there had been a motorcycle in the driveway on the move-in day. “And I saw him take off his helmet and go inside, and he had dark hair. Definitely movie star handsome too, but not that tall. I figured he was the pilot everybody was talking about.”

Karen takes a long sip of her drink, clearly lost in thought. Lucy and Leslie are clearly waiting with bated breath to hear what she’s going to say, and Karen Brewer’s gaze bounces between Karen and Marcy like a ping pong ball. Even Sharon’s curious. “Well,” Karen finally says, almost regally, and finishes her drink. “I think that this warrants some more investigation.”

“Yeah,” Sharon says, and everyone nods. “I think so too.”

* * *

Jack’s in bed by the time she gets back, reading something on his Kindle, and he waits until she’s under the covers with him to put his Kindle aside. “How was the meeting?”

Sharon shrugs. “The usual,” she says. “Talked about the Color Run, allocated funds for the STEM clubs and the choir.”

“And the VIP-exclusive after-party?”

Sharon grins. “Well,” she says, conspiratorial, and Jack turns on his side with his eyebrows raised in interest. “Karen swears up and down that our new neighbor’s blond and tall and movie star handsome, and Marcy claims that he’s dark-haired and movie star handsome and drives a motorcycle. So there’s going to be some more investigation.”

“You going to dip your toes into this?”

“Nah,” she says. “I’m not in the market for a handsome guy to go to bed with.”

Jack grins back. “That so?”

“That’s so,” Sharon says, and Jack leans over to kiss her. She breaks away after a while to turn off the light on her side — since she very much enjoys where this is going and doesn’t want the lamp to burn out her corneas — and says, “Hey, maybe you can ask around about our new neighbor at work.”

“I work at CAEWWS, Sherry, not TOPGUN.”

“I know, but maybe you can ask around anyway.” She cups his face in her hands, brushing a thumb over the stubble on his cheek. Screw the Handsome Navy Pilot; she’s very happy being Mrs. Sharon Markowe, and has no desire to change that. “I’d love to see Karen’s face when I beat her to the punch.”

“Why do you even go to these things if you don’t like her?”

“I do like her,” Sharon says, and it’s not a lie. She’s just…a bit much, at times. If she doesn’t like anybody there it’s Lucy, whom she still hasn’t forgiven for snubbing her and Jack because they go to the synagogue in Reno and not Immanuel Presbyterian. “Besides, it keeps me up to date on Maya and Benji’s school stuff, and…” She smirks. “What else would we do in bed if we didn’t talk about the PTA meetings?”

“I can think of a few.” Jack’s voice has gone low with lust, and it makes her shiver delightfully. “Let me show you.”

She’s happy to oblige.

* * *

Another week comes and goes, and Karen Brewer’s got a crowd of people surrounding her by the snacks table in the ten minutes before the meeting starts. Annie, whose daughter Emma is feeling much better now, heads over to see the commotion, and Sharon follows.

“—so then I figured, he’s been here two weeks and none of us have officially welcomed him to the neighborhood, so I went over on Friday night with a casserole. He was having some kind of party, I think — probably a housewarming party — and then he finally answered the door.”

“So?” Karen Davis says. “What’s he look like?”

“Well, it was the same dark-haired one Marcy saw,” Karen Brewer says. “But then your blond one came out of the living room and said hi to me too, and they both thanked me for the casserole.”

“And then?”

“Well, I had to go home, I had a pie in the oven. But I guess both of you were right.”

“Maybe that means there are two single handsome Navy pilots instead of one,” says Annie, and then immediately clamps her mouth shut. But it’s too late. All of the single moms are beaming like Annie just solved all of their problems, and Sharon fights the urge to bury her head in her hands as they duke it out over which one is more attractive.

_ This ought to be good. _

* * *

For the next two weeks, all Sharon hears is talk from the others about how to catch the two single handsome Navy pilots, about how good-looking the two of them are, and so on and so forth. Her best guess is that one of them owns the house and the other is a friend that’s around all the time, but her gut instincts are telling her it’s not quite right. Jack thinks it’s all a conspiracy; Sharon just wishes Karen Brewer and Marcy Brenner would stop swapping pick-up lines at every meeting. (And that Karen Davis would stop instigating cat-fights over which of them was more attractive.)

Either way, she’s got a lot on her plate to think too much about the targets of the PTA housewives. Even the married ones (the unhappily married ones, anyway) have gotten in on this, like uber-Christian Kathy Thibodeaux and conservative Lynne Williams. (Sure, Sharon’s in on this, but only to find out what’s going on. She’s got no interest in taking either of them for her own.)

Meanwhile, life goes on. The dishwasher breaks down, and the sump pump too, but both are fixed relatively quickly. Benji’s twelfth birthday comes around, calling for presents, and a party, and a cake. Maya gets a sore throat and has to stay home for three days. Sharon’s period is late but arrives, thank God and her IUD.

“I heard some news about a guy from work moving here,” Jack says on Sunday afternoon, when they’re parked in front of the TV with some friends watching the basketball game. Benji’s upstairs doing homework — he’d better be, anyway — and Maya’s at a friend’s house. “From TOPGUN. One of us, apparently.”

“Really?” That she hadn’t heard about the Handsome Navy Pilot(s); then again, who but her would care if either of them are Jewish? “What’s his last name? Do you know him?”

“I don’t. Apparently his last name’s Kazansky.”

“Kazansky,” Sharon says, mostly to herself. “No, I don’t know anybody with that last name. What’s he look like? Do you know?”

“I didn’t ask, sorry. Bill just said that he heard from a friend that someone named Kazansky moved to a house on Clark Street. Apparently he’s a newlywed, too.”

“A newlywed?” Won’t the Real Housewives of Fallon, Nevada be disappointed. But… “I think your friend got some wires crossed; I’ve never seen him with a wife.” _ Not that I even know who Him is. _

Jack shrugs. “Don’t shoot the messenger. Just passing along what I heard.”

“And I thank you for it,” Sharon says, smiling, and kisses him on the cheek. “Want another beer?”

“Yeah, thanks.”

“Be right back.”

* * *

Sharon tells Annie what Jack had told her at the next meeting, but Lucy overhears, which is how the usual group of ladies ends up at Karen Davis’s house analyzing this information to shreds.

“It must be wrong,” Karen Davis says, pacing around her kitchen. “I’ve seen the blond one dozens of times by now, and I never saw a ring.” _ Yeah, _ Sharon thinks, _ but were you looking for one? _ “I think that your husband’s friend must have mixed up the information, Sharon.”

“And that he’s a Jew,” Lucy chimes in. “I mean, that definitely can’t be right. He doesn’t look like a Jew to me.”

Sharon’s grip tightens on her cup of coffee. “What does one look like, exactly?” she asks Lucy tightly, daring her to say something that isn’t a stereotype.

“Well…” Lucy’s voice stammers and sputters out. She looks between the Karens and Annie and Marcy and Leslie for help, none of whom say a thing. Good. “Well, you know…they’ve got…they usually—”

“Are you guys talking about Commander Mitchell again?”

They all turn to see Alex Davis (or maybe Andy) leaning against the fridge, eating out of a tiny bag of carrots. “Yes,” his mother says, sounding stunned. “Yes, we…you know his name? What did you call him?”

“Mitchell,” Maybe-Alex says. “He’s a pilot. A commander, he said. I said his motorcycle was cool and he said thanks and introduced himself. Can me and Andy get a motorcycle, Mom?”

“No, honey, those things are death traps.”

“Aww, but it’s so cool! He said he’s been riding one since he was seventeen!”

“Well, maybe you can get one when you’re seventeen,” Karen says. “Did you finish your homework yet?”

“Almost. Just wanted a snack.” He waves at them politely, and everyone smiles back. Or, at least Sharon does; everyone else’s faces are frozen in something between shock and confusion. “Bye.”

Alex leaves, and the whole room falls quiet. Sharon’s pretty sure that Alex hadn’t been lying, and she’s pretty sure that her husband’s friend hadn’t been lying either. They’re all just missing a crucial piece of information somewhere.

Karen sums up all of their thoughts. “I’m going to figure this out if it kills me.”

* * *

On Saturday afternoon, Sharon goes grocery shopping while Jack takes the kids to the bowling alley. The list is long today: snacks for the kids’ lunches, bread and sandwich meat and vegetables, apples since she wants to bake a pie, some ground beef for the chili Jack had requested, and so on and so forth. The store’s relatively quiet for a weekend, and she moves her cart in and out of the aisles before stopping in the cereal aisle. She’s not wearing heels, so the sugar cereals are too damn high for her to reach, and there’s not an employee in sight. Maybe the kids can survive without Frosted Flakes. Maybe she can jump for it. 

“You too, huh.”

Sharon’s blushing before she even turns around. There’s someone else in the aisle with her, a handsome dark-haired man with a half-full basket, a nice smile and a leather jacket. Looks to be in his late forties, around Jack’s age, and since she doesn’t recognize him, that means… “Yes,” she says, trying not to sound starstruck by the fact that she’s actually talking to Handsome Navy Pilot. Eat your heart out, Lucy Wilson. “Curse of being five foot six.”

“I’m five seven,” he says. “I feel your pain.”

Sharon laughs. Might as well be polite and introduce herself. It’d be good for him to meet somebody in the neighborhood that doesn’t want to flirt. “I’m Sharon,” she says.

“Maverick.”

Maverick. That’s an interesting name. Now if only she can figure out whether it’s attached to the surname Mitchell or Kazansky. “You’re new in town, right?”

“As of six weeks ago, yeah,” he says, smiling. “We bought the house on Clark Street.”

_ We? _ “I live on Foxdale,” she says. “That’s a few blocks over from you; near the elementary school.”

“Oh, sure, yeah,” Maverick says, in that polite way that says he’s got no idea what she’s talking about. Then again, if he doesn’t have any kids, he wouldn’t need to know about the location of the elementary school. “It’s a great place. We used to live closer to the base, so it’s a lot quieter here. The people are really nice. Friendly.”

_ I bet. _ “Well, we haven’t gotten new neighbors in a while, so you’re big news around here.”

“Yeah, I can tell. We’ve gotten a lot of casseroles.”

_ Again with the we, _ she thinks, and then notices that he’s got a golden wedding band on his left hand. So he _ is _married. (Poor PTA ladies.) Does that make him Kazansky? But he doesn’t look Jewish — and anyway, where does Mitchell come into play? “So when you say we—”

“Hey.”

Sharon and Maverick turn around to see another man coming up the aisle, carrying a half-full basket of his own. He’s taller and older than both of them, maybe fifty or fifty-one years old, with short blond hair and broad shoulders and a nice, strong jaw. Very good-looking, and definitely fits the ladies’ description of movie star handsome. (She’s taken, not blind. She’s allowed to look just as long as she doesn’t touch.) And anyway, she’d have to be blind to miss how Maverick’s face lights up at the very sight of this man. “Hey,” he says. “What took you?”

“Couldn’t find the right brand of fabric softener, so I had to ask around. Did you get the Purina for SR-71 and the MiGs?”

“Yeah, right here,” Maverick says, showing the blond man the inside of his basket.

“Are those Pop Tarts, Mav? Seriously?”

“The commercials say that they’re part of a healthy breakfast,” Maverick says, grinning as the blond rolls his eyes. “Speaking of which, you want to reach the Frosted Flakes for me? Oh — what do you want, by the way? I’m offering his services.”

Sharon’s so surprised by the question that had been aimed at her that for a moment, all she can do is blink. “Oh,” she says. “Uh, Frosted Flakes are fine. And Lucky Charms, please. I’d reach them, but…” She gestures at herself. “You know.”

“No problem,” the blond says, and reaches up to get the boxes of cereal that neither she nor Maverick were able to reach. Must be nice being six feet tall. He hands her the boxes she’d requested and then puts the Frosted Flakes in Maverick’s basket before taking a box of Special K and putting it in his own. “There. Now we’ve got options.”

“Boring options,” Maverick grumbles, but he’s smiling anyway. “Thanks, Ice.”

And then he leans up and kisses the blond man, right in the middle of the aisle. It’s quick and relatively chaste — unlike some of the kisses she’s seen between Annie and her husband in far more public places — but it makes Sharon’s jaw drop anyway.

“Oh, right,” Maverick says once he’s pulled back, like he can’t believe himself for being so rude. Sharon pinches the inside of her wrist to stop herself from gawping like an idiot. “Ice, this is Sharon…”

“Markowe,” she manages. “Sharon Markowe.”

“Right. And Sharon, this is my husband, Tom Kazansky.”

“Husband,” she repeats, and shakes Tom Kazansky’s outstretched hand. So _ that’s _the crucial bit of information that everybody had been missing. Sounds about right. “How long have you been married?”

“Six months and eleven days,” Maverick says promptly, and Tom Kazansky — or Ice, that was what Maverick had called him — smiles, like he can’t believe his own luck. So Jack’s friend hadn’t been wrong; they’re both newlyweds. That’s adorable. “Better seventeen years and ten months late than never.”

“Congratulations,” Sharon says, and she means it. Seventeen years is a hell of a long time to wait. “Well, I’ve got to finish up here and start dinner, but…welcome to the neighborhood. It was nice meeting you two.”

“Thanks,” Ice says. He and Maverick are both smiling like they have no idea they just broke the heart of every single mom in Churchill County. “You too.”

* * *

“So there’s two Navy pilots,” Karen Brewer says at Thursday’s meeting.

Sharon nods.

“And they’re married,” Lucy says.

Sharon nods.

“To each other,” Marcy says.

Sharon nods.

Leslie downs her wine. Lynne Williams shoves a handful of pretzels into her mouth. Kathy Thibodeaux fiddles with the crucifix charm on her necklace, and Annie hides her smirk behind a napkin.

Karen Davis buries her head in her hands. “Why are the good ones always taken?” she bemoans, and Sharon pats her on the back, trying not to laugh.

“Don’t worry,” she says. “There’s always the next one.”

**Author's Note:**

> NAWDC: the Naval Aviation Warfighting Development Center, which houses the TOPGUN program. The TOPGUN program moved from Naval Air Station Miramar to Naval Air Station Fallon in '96.  
CAEWWS: the Carrier Airborne Early Warning Weapons School, also located at NAS Fallon.


End file.
